


Though the Stars Walk Backward

by vexmybones



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, But Barney and Laura are, Clint Barton's Farm, Clint Is Not Married, Darcy is the Avengers and Co's Girl Friday, F/M, Injury Recovery, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Run-On Sentences, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, are still awesome, references out the wazoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexmybones/pseuds/vexmybones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy is given an assignment, a top secret one. How hard could it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This will self-destruct in; 3...

**Author's Note:**

> I obviously have trouble writing fic without Darcy in it and figured I'd try my hand steering this ship. Let's see how this goes, shall we?

 

_'Trust your heart if the seas catch fire,_

_live by love though the stars walk backward.' –ee cummings_

 

“No, no—Janey, I’m exhausted. I’m just gonna raid the fridge and pass out. Yeah, I’m sure,” Darcy juggles her oversized pocketbook and the bag of junk food dangling from her wrist, phone sandwiched between ear and shoulder while she fishes around for her keys. “M’kay, don’t forget to call me before you leave. Tell him ni-night, too, mhm, sure. Love you, too. Later!” Finding her keys she yanks them free from whatever the lanyard they’re attached to is tangled around, and curses when a hairbrush and her glasses’ case goes tumbling to the floor. Muttering in annoyance, Darcy attempts to bend down without jostling her phone or purse strap from their positions but fails. Growling her frustration through gritted teeth, she gives up and drops her bag of munchies to the floor and bends over to right all of her things. Once her purse is back on her shoulder with everything including her cell inside it, she jams her house key angrily into the lock.

Dizzy from bending over, she shoulders her way into her apartment past the aging door that likes to stick and immediately steps out of her heels. Sighing in relief, she drops her bags to the floor next to them and shrugs out of her jacket. Slamming the door closed, Darcy locks it up tight and turns looking into the tiny entryway for the first time. Her heart stutters and takes off into a sprint at the distinct glow of the lamp in the living room painting the ugly beige walls of her hall a soft yellow.

She doesn’t remember leaving that on.

Her granny taught her to never leave a light burning all day.

Darcy reaches down and tugs her taser out of her purse.

“I have a gun and I will shoot you,” she announces as she walks cautiously towards her living room, taser raised and trigger finger itching. She hears someone snort at that and Darcy scowls. Inching first her weapon then herself around the corner into her small living room, she spies a slim woman with a messy, dark bob in a hoodie admiring her stuffed-to-the-gills bookshelf.

“Step away from the books and no one gets hurt.”

“Nice collection,” the woman says with an amused, husky voice. Darcy keeps her taser aimed and scowls deeper when the intruder slides a book back onto the shelf before turning around. She raises her hands in a show of innocence and there’s a crooked smile on her face.

“Who are you and how’d you get into my apartment? I mean, I know the locks are crappy, Barton’s been on me to change them—actually surprised he hasn’t just done it him—”

Darcy’s rambling stalls out abruptly when the smile blooms into a grin and the stranger’s eyes skip over Darcy to a point over her shoulder.

“There’s someone behind me isn’t there?” she asks as the hair on the back of her neck stands up.

“You were right,” the woman says, but not to Darcy as she nods once.

“Miss Lewis,” speaks a voice that she hasn’t heard in years. It’s slightly fond and a lot exasperated. Her eyes squeeze closed and she drops her taser to her side, taking a deep breath. Darcy ever so slowly turns and opens her eyes.

“Son of Coul?”

“The one and only,” he says with that weird smile he always used to give her when she asked stupid questions. He looks older than the last time she saw him, his hair has a hint of gray at the temples, and his eyes look somehow older than his face. Well, he is dead after all.

“You’re dead!”

The woman she’d managed to forget about so quickly snickers, but Darcy ignores her. Coulson raises a brow and gives her his patented expression; the one that used to come before the word ‘Classified’. Darcy cuts him off before he can get his mouth open to say it and pokes him in the chest.

“I begged Barton to let me see the reports but he forbade me. Stark upgraded Jarvis to keep me from hacking his servers! Do you know how angry they made me? I even tried to persuade Thor to talk to Heimdall to see if he could ‘see’ you! _I went to your funeral, Phil!_ ” Darcy shouts and is mildly satisfied when he winces.

“I apologize, Miss Lewis,” he says sincerely and steps into the room with an outstretched hand. Darcy retreats and doesn’t realize she’s crying till she blinks and her vision goes blurry. She raises her hand to swipe her cheeks and frowns at the taser still in her hand. Tossing the weapon into the ratty recliner wedged in front of the window, she takes a deep, unsteady breath and lowers her eyes to her stocking clad toes.

Back in New Mexico, Darcy had gotten quite attached to the stuffy SHIELD agent. Between the debriefing and the disaster clean up they had somehow ended up getting to know one another. She had spent many a day working with the agents to help restore the town and eating sandwiches out of a Captain America lunchbox. She’d bought it for him after she’d drunkenly pestered facts out of him once. Some of her favorite memories from New Mexico included bullying Barton and Coulson to come to her awesome rooftop BBQ’s.

She’d been heartbroken when she had gotten word that he’d been one of the fallen in the Battle of New York.

A warm and very much alive hand grasps her shoulder making her look up.

“I’m sorry, Darcy,” he says quietly and Darcy crumbles. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she squeezes him tightly with a sob as only one of his arms tentatively wraps around her. She notes that he still smells like the same cologne he used then, but with a hint of something a little more… _flowery._

_Huh, that’s new._

Sniffling, she pulls back and steps away, fingers dashing tears off of her cheeks. She takes better stock of him and notices he has a glove on one of his hands and wonders what that’s all about but saves it for later. Mustering up a smile, which isn’t hard since he’s _alive_ , Darcy meets his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Thank you. Me too.”

Darcy cants her head to the side and stares hard at him for a minute before her eyes widen. He sighs. She points at him. “Oh my God, they don’t know do they?! Barton and Nat? Tony? None of them know you’re up and walking around!”

“Wow, she has you pegged, AC,” the other woman says reminding Darcy of her presence. Spinning around, Darcy eyes her.

“And you are?”

“Daisy…” Coulson’s voice holds a warning that makes the brunette roll her eyes. Darcy glances between them, her brain trying to add up things. _And who the hell calls him ‘AC’?_

“I’m Daisy,” she states and steps forward offering her hand to shake. Darcy shakes it slowly. “Don’t worry; I’m only here for moral support.”

“You’re SHIELD?”

“I’m a Power Ranger actually,” Daisy says with twinkling eyes.

“Right, because that makes sense; a resurrected Agent Man and the pink Power Ranger break into my apartment. Just another Tuesday night.” Darcy pinches the bridge of her nose and kinda wishes she’d taken Jane up on her offer to crash on her couch after all. Blowing out a breath, Darcy rights her glasses and interrupts the unspoken conversation that Coulson and Daisy are having. “I have ice cream melting and really want to change, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Not giving them the chance to object, Darcy brushes past Coulson and grabs her stuff from where she dumped it. She takes her sweet time putting the groceries away and changing into a pair of purple yoga pants topped by a plain gray hoodie. Once she cleans her face of makeup and piles her hair into a messy bun, then and only then does she deem her nerves calm enough to see to her surprise guests. Padding on now gloriously bare feet, she makes her way back into the living room and pulls up short.

Coulson and Daisy look awfully cozy on her couch. _Oh…_ her brain helpfully offers. _That explains it._

Clearing her throat, Darcy is intrigued when they don’t even jump apart or look even remotely guilty. Plopping down into her recliner, she curls her feet under her butt and tugs her ugliest throw pillow onto her lap. She watches them as they watch her.

“Sorry if we ruined your plans or something.”

Darcy shrugs at Daisy. “The only plans you’ve ruined are the ones I had to watch cartoons and veg out till I crashed.”

“I like her,” Daisy nudges Coulson in the ribs with her elbow making him roll his eyes.

“I knew you two meeting was a terrible idea.”

Daisy just grins.

“So, are you two together or am I just shipping things in reality again?”

Coulson’s left eye twitches as he tries to mask his recognition of her lingo and Daisy laughs delightedly. Darcy figures it’s probably from their reactions. She loves being right.

“Cute. Good for you, Son of Coul! I demand details,” she smiles sweetly at Daisy. “I’ll give you my email and you can tell me all about it!”

“I—I don’t think that’s appropriate—”

“Only if you swap stories with me about AC? I bet you have some good ones,” Daisy speaks over Coulson to Darcy’s delight.

“Absolutely!” Darcy says and relaxes a little, starting to like this girl.

Coulson clears his throat and Darcy watches him put on his Agent façade like a mantle. _Uh-oh, here it comes_ , she thinks.

“Darcy, as Miss Johnson said, we haven’t come here to interrupt your evening. We actually have business to discuss.”

“Whatever it is, no,” Darcy shakes her head. “The last time you wanted to ‘discuss’ (she uses hand gestures for emphasis) something you sent me and Jane to Norway and _died_. So nope, whatever you’re selling I ain’t buying.”

“At least hear us out? Please.”

Darcy narrows her eyes at him. He almost never says please, to her at least. Something is up. She nods and waits for him to drop another bomb on her.

“Thank you. I assume you saw what happened in Sokovia on TV?” Darcy nods and cocks a brow. “The Avengers went to great lengths to—”

“To clean up Tony’s mess? Yeah, I know the story. He’s got a real loose tongue when he’s drunk.” Darcy makes a face at the memory of how pitiful he’d been for the last few months.

“Yes, well…  There were a few complications during the battle that left a scar on the team.”

“That gifted kid dying, right?”

Coulson just sighs, resigned, and asks; “Barton or Stark?”

“Nat, actually. When Clint wouldn’t answer his phone for a week she took it upon herself to visit me at work.”

Working at Stark Industries and being friends with some of the Avengers have awesome perks.

“That’s surprising.”

“Not really,” Darcy shrugs and motions for him to get to the point.

“As I was saying, there were complications and I’ve been tasked to sort one of them out. Now, it is public knowledge that Pietro Maximoff died heroically saving Hawkeye and a civilian child.”

“Oh no, I sense a ‘but’ coming…”

He smiles probably used to her antics by now and nods.

“But, what the public, and this includes most members of the Avengers, do not know is that he isn’t actually dead.”

Darcy frowns as Daisy’s frame immediately tenses and her head whips around to glare at Coulson. She mutters something about ‘GH’, whatever that is, to him and he shakes his head. He places a reassuring hand on her thigh and Darcy watches as the tension melts from the woman in obvious relief. Coulson looks back at Darcy but leaves his hand on Daisy.

“I assume you know Fury is also alive?”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Darcy shrieks and revels internally when he stills like a deer in headlights.

“You didn’t—shit.”

“What would Captain Rogers think of that language, Coulson?” Darcy smirks and his eyes narrow. “Kidding, I know about Fury. Lighten up; you’re the only Lazarus I’ve cried on.”

“There was a drug that Dr. Banner created that Fury used to fake his death—”

“And they decided to try it on that poor guy? What gives, does SHIELD not want anyone to go home to that big carnival in the sky?”

“I dare you to say that to Barton,” Coulson replies.

“I dare _you_ to tell him you’re alive,” Darcy retorts.

“Point and match,” Daisy whispers making Darcy preen.

“Fury sent me to recruit you, Miss Lewis. He seems to think that you would be ideal for this delicate mission.”

“We both know that ‘delicate’ and I don’t exactly run in the same crowds, Coulson. And not to mention it, but I’m not an agent. I work for Janey, and Pepper Potts.”

“Is Dr. Foster not set to leave for Asgard in the morning?”

“I’d ask how you know that but Thor’s been so excited about it he’s probably told everyone he’s met this month.”

“Actually, Jemma, I mean, Simmons, one of our scientists was asked to look at some of Dr. Foster’s work while she’s ‘out of town’.”

Darcy processes Daisy’s words and wonders if she signed off on that. It’s been a long few months. She turns her attention back to Coulson.

“So they gave the kid Banner’s drug and lied to everyone, how very original.”

“No one wants to see a good man fall,” Phil says quietly before seemingly shaking off a shiver and continuing. “Anyway, Barton was given the drug in case of emergency since he was tasked with keeping an eye on the twins. He successfully administered it before the others reached them. Arrangements were made and a funeral was had. No one but a certain few knows.”

“Okay, so how does this involve me and why in the hell would Fury even think of me?”

“As Barton is the only Avenger that knows Maximoff is alive, he suggested you to Fury. Maximoff has been in a coma for the past three months. Due to his enhanced healing properties we suspected that he would recover quickly, but it appears that Dr. Banner’s drug had an unseen side effect with whatever HYDRA used to alter his DNA.

He awoke once, three weeks in, and became violent so he’s been in an induced coma while he heals at the rate of a normal human. We aren’t sure if his accelerated speed is still in tact, but now that his body has somewhat fully healed and he has been taken out of the coma, we want to make him more comfortable.”

“Whoa, wait… you want me to—to what, play nurse?”

“Sort of, yes. When he wakes up we are going to move him to a classified location where he can fully heal and adjust to his recent trauma. Darcy, you’re great at caring for those in need and being stern enough to make sure they recover properly. I’ve seen you in action and I know that Barton was right to suggest you.”

“But I’ve never met the guy! And you said he was violent? Don’t you think that warrants a little caution on my side, here? He’ll wanna see his sister, not sit around while I glare at him to eat his damn soup!”

“We’ll be giving you a Night-Night—sorry, Icer and you obviously have an illegally charged taser that you aren’t afraid to use,” Daisy motions to the weapon now on the coffee table between them.

“She’s right. You will be outfitted with a few non-lethal weapons and we’ll be stopping by every few weeks to check in on his progress.”

“Look,” Darcy shakes her head, “I don’t know this guy from Adam and you just want to _disappear_ me off to some shady hole in the wall? No, absolutely not. I won’t do it!”

Before Coulson can comment, Darcy’s phone begins to ring loudly.

‘ _I AM CANNIBAL. CANNIBAL. CANNIBAL. I AM. I AM CANNIBAL. I’LL EAT YOU UP.’_

Ke$ha sings as Darcy jumps up and runs to where she’d left her purse in front of the door. Clint’s ringtone acts as a homing beacon as she digs for the phone. He hates her song choice and vehemently argues that he looks nothing like the guy that played Dahmer in that B movie. Darcy disagrees and refuses to change it.

“Hello!” she answers and straightens, moving back into the living room. Coulson quirks a brow at her in question and she raises a finger to her lips. Daisy sits quietly but Darcy can feel her curious gaze on her as she settles back into her chair.

“Hey, darlin’ whatcha into?”

“Watching a zombie movie,” Darcy answers evenly and takes great pleasure in the way Phil glares at her and Daisy slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.

“Aw, without me?”

“You know where I live, Barton,” she deliberately uses his name so Coulson knows to keep his trap shut although she’d happily out his little secret.

“Yeah, yeah, I would but I’m kinda tied up tonight.”

“Kinky… Tell Nat I said hello.”

“Your imagination is a scary place, Darce.”

“You have no idea!”

“Before this gets weird and I get a boner on the job, did you get visited by a couple people in black tonight?”

“Why yes, Jacob, I was visited by the Spirit of Christmas Past now that you mention it.”

Clint laughs and Darcy grins at Daisy who is clearly getting a kick out of Darcy teasing Coulson.

“Okay, Scrooge, so tell me if this spirit won you over?”

“If Fury turns out to be the Spirit of Christmas Future I’d probably die laughing and shit my pants at the same time,” she skirts giving him an answer since she has definitely not agreed to their gig.

Barton barks out laughter that’s thankfully loud enough to cover Daisy’s own peal of mirth. Coulson literally facepalms. Darcy badly wants to take a picture but she just got this phone and he’d probably steal it if she has any evidence of him on it.

“Who does that make the Spirit of Christmas Present?”

“Volstagg!” Darcy proclaims instantly with a grin. “You know, because he has the red beard and I bet he’d look awesome in green velvet.”

“You win. I don’t even know why I try,” Clint chuckles. “Seriously, though, I vouched for you. You gonna help me out?”

Darcy sighs dramatically. She hates being put on the spot. Yes, she likes helping people, but this; this is totally different than helping Tony through a bender while Pepper’s out of town. Or mothering Janey when she’s sick with the flu and still trying to Science! stuff. She doesn’t _know_ Pietro and frankly doesn’t want to.

“I… I don’t know. That’s a tall order, Clint,” she avoids Coulson’s steady gaze.

“Come on! I’ll owe you one. There is literally no one (the ‘other than Tasha’ is unspoken, but there) else I would trust with this. You know what went down,” Darcy winces when his voice goes soft and serious like he’s taking a walk down memory lane. “I owe it to him. Please, Darce? For me?”

She grits her teeth and rolls her eyes ‘cause she knows what she’s gonna say, knows that she’s going to do it because it’s the right thing.

“ _Fine_ ,” she hisses.

“Yes! Thank you, darlin’, thank you so much.”

“Can you tell me just one thing?”

“Possibly… depends on what it is,” Barton responds cautiously.

“Where are they disappearing me to?”

“Have you ever been out west?”

Darcy hangs up on him.


	2. Take Manhattan, just gimme that countryside!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of goodbyes and a few introductions.

 

 

Coulson gives her the rest of the week to request time off and do whatever needs to be done before an ‘extended vacation’. Getting off work isn’t that hard considering when she goes in the next morning Pepper calls her right into her office. Apparently Coulson’s new SHIELD faction works fast because she walks out with a bogus letter that basically explains why she’d signed her soul over for the foreseeable future. Whatever he’d come up with seems good enough, though; her vacation time is suddenly endless and she’s free to go.

However, getting out of the building without saying goodbye to Tony Stark proves difficult. Darcy swings by her desk to pick up a few things so she can at least work a little while she’s away, and he’s already in her chair. His suit is charcoal, tie scarlet, and he has two cups of coffee steaming in front of him.

“You’re leaving me?”

“Technically.”

“Is it for another man? I told Pep we should have propositioned you months ago.”

Darcy rolls her eyes and shoos him out of her seat. “I’m not a hooker, Stark.”

“You know what I mean!”

“One day I’m going to slap a sexual harassment lawsuit on you and Pepper’s gonna take my side.” He pouts at her and Darcy smirks. The coffee is just how she likes it so she forgives him, though. “Now, was there any other reason you stopped by?”

“Nah, I just wanted to say bon voyage,” he shrugs and Darcy actually feels a pang of remorse, however small.

“I’ll be back!”

“I know, but who will I bug while you’re gone? Foster is leaving with Point Break today and now you’re leaving too. I’m just gonna be so _bored_!”

“Tony Stark bored. The world is doomed,” Darcy deadpans and hides a smile behind her coffee. “Look,” she takes a swig then sits it down, giving him her full attention. “Banner is still here. _Steve_ is a phone call away. Pepper doesn’t have any upcoming trips. You will be fine.”

Tony snorts and drops his gaze to her cluttered desk. “Bruce doesn’t like me at the moment. Come to think of it, neither does Cap. Besides, he’s off somewhere in Siberia with Wilson looking for a yeti or something.”

She resists rolling her eyes again, but it’s a close call. “Dude,” she snaps her fingers so he’ll meet her eyes. “Butter Banner up with some tea and yoga, or better yet, try _apologizing_.” Darcy ignores his narrowed eyes and continues. “And you know, maybe if you, oh I don’t know, offered to _help_ Steve maybe he’d come around more.”

“So I should just apologize to everyone and throw a tea party? In that case, can I borrow your tiaras?”

“Sure, I’ll get Barton to drop them off before I head out.”

Tony _whines_ and Darcy arches a brow at him.

“How come he gets to know where you’re going? Why’s it so secret anyway?”

“Because it’s my vacation and he has a quinjet at his disposal.”

“I have a jet!”

“Tony, no.” He makes a face at her as Pepper appears and Darcy can’t help but laugh. “Leave her alone.”

“But—”

“You’re already ten minutes late to the meeting.”

“ _Shit_. Come here, kid,” he motions and Darcy gets up to give him a tight hug. “Don’t have too much fun without us, all right?”

“I promise,” Darcy sighs because she knows for a fact that she isn’t going to be lazing about on a beach somewhere. She won’t be having any fun whatsoever. Nada.

The rest of the week flies by.

With Jane off planet with her thunder-hunk, Pepper and Tony convinced she’s on vacation, and Barton in the know, she really doesn’t have anyone else to concern herself with. So she spends Wednesday night through Saturday morning packing and getting mightily distracted by Smallville reruns. Clint hadn’t told her what weather to pack for, so she’d attempted to throw a little of everything in. One suitcase has everything she could need on a real vacation, no matter the destination. The other suitcase, a vintage and teal affair that belonged to her grandmother, is packed to the gills, too. Books, movies, and her laptop cozy up to her pillow and a faded purple and orange afghan. And a gray elephant that Jane won her at a fair once (in a surprising show of athleticism) guards it all. Darcy figures that her familiar stuff will be able to get her through her forced vacation.

Darcy’s alarm wakes her up with the chickens Sunday morning and she’s _this close_ to turning it off and going back to sleep. But. Stupid bonehead Avengers. Barton lets himself into her apartment with a holler, the slam of her door jarring her harshly from her lovely doze. Cursing incoherently and heart pounding, Darcy throws her cover back and nearly pokes her eye out trying to put her glasses on. Tripping over a stray pillow, she growls and makes her way to her bathroom across the hall. Business finished, and at least fifteen percent more awake, she shuffles down the hall and into the kitchen, squinting at the nasty morning light infiltrating her abode.

“Please don’t eat my brains,” Clint holds a steaming cup in front of him like a shield.

Her glare could peel paint as she snatches the coffee from his grasp and cradles it to her chest like a precious baby. Slumping onto a rickety stool, Darcy curls around her coffee and inhales the strong scent that makes her toes curl. It’s only after she’s drank it halfway down and feels a little more human that she looks back up at Barton.

“What brains?”

“You’re cute with your Franken-hair and Cookie Monster shirt. Where do you keep your taser in that getup?”

“Yep, definitely brainless.”

He knocks a knuckle against his temple and shrugs. Darcy yawns and watches him turn to a bag on her counter. He produces two huge muffins and she makes grabby hands. Sliding one to her across the island, they dig into them in comfortable silence seeing as how neither of them are big morning people. Clint drains his coffee as she licks chocolate and crumbs off her palm, then he taps his watch.

“You all packed? We’ve got to get moving.”

“Mhm, just gotta shower and wash this rat’s nest,” she motions to her ‘Franken-hair’ as he called it.

“Then hop to it!” he claps his hands together making her startle and scowl. Balling up her muffin paper, she throws it at his forehead. Sticking out her tongue at him when he catches it, Darcy hops off her stool and goes to get ready.

 

*

 

Four hours later finds Darcy about ninety percent awake, three cups of coffee down, and with kamikaze butterflies in her stomach. She doesn’t have a clue what state they’re in but everything is _green,_ and the ‘Green Acres’ theme song has been playing in her head for the last twenty-six minutes. Honestly, she doesn’t know if she should be surprised or what with her current situation.

They’d landed in a field then she and Barton had lugged her luggage through shin-high grass up to an honest to Thor farm house. Her barrage of questions and complaints had been abruptly silenced when the front door opened, however. Two kids had burst out pushing and shoving each other down the steps, and Darcy had watched in fascination as they ran straight at them. She’d clutched her suitcase in fear, but they’d just thrown themselves at Clint. With a grunt he’d dropped her bigger suitcase and caught them, lifted them up into his arms with ease. Wide-eyed and extremely confused, Darcy had been about to demand an explanation but the slap of a screen door closing averted her attention back toward the house.

Barton had shook the kids off with some remark about monkeys, sent her a sheepish grin over his shoulder, picked up her stuff and proceeded up to the house. The man standing on the steps with the very pregnant woman tucked under his arm at least explained the spawn, but Darcy had still been so very confused. The man was tall, broad shouldered, and from what she could see; ripped. His hair was covered by a dirty baseball cap but she’d been pretty sure the hair peeking out had been red.

Clint had introduced them then.

Barney and Laura.

Barton.

Her neck still hurts from looking back and forth between Clint and his brother. Yeah, she’d known he existed but Darcy never in a million years expected to _meet_ Barton’s family. So, that’s how she’d ended up sandwiched between the Barton brothers in an old, green rust-bucket of a Ford truck. Glancing at Clint, she can’t help but smile. She supposes it should be weird that he looks so natural and relaxed behind the wheel, but it really isn’t. He catches her staring and winks at her making her smile bigger. Sighing, Darcy toys with a zipper on her purse that’s in her lap. Listening to Barney and Clint talk over the sounds of the horrid classic country pouring from the truck’s static-y speakers and the rattle of the thing itself, she muses over her fate. Either she’ll die when they hit a pothole and George Jones will be the last thing she hears when the truck explodes, or she’s about to meet another ailing Avenger. Lesser evil, she’ll take meeting Pietro.

They’ve been seemingly on the same dirt road for what feels like forever when Clint finally takes a left onto _another_ gravel path. But this one is slightly shorter and before she knows it a smaller version of Barney’s house comes into view. Two black SHIELD SUVs are parked out front and there’s a big, dangerous looking man leaning casually against the back of one. Darcy glances at Clint and he squeezes her knee as they come to a stop right in front of the agent. She waits till Barney gets out and gratefully accepts his hand when climbing out of the truck. Unsure of what she should be doing, she closes the door as Barton #2 (or #1 since he’s older) hauls her stuff out of the truck bed.

“Darce, come here,” Clint waves a hand at her. Glad for something to do, she shoulders her bag and moves around the hood to where he’s talking to the agent. She squints up at the man and is mildly thrilled when he gives her a smile.   
“Hello, agent man.”

He chuckles and reaches out to shake her hand, “Tremors was right,” his eyes sparkle and it takes Darcy a minute to remember Coulson’s new girlfriend.

“The Power Ranger? Are you one of them too?”

“Yeah, but you can just call me Mack,” he grins.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Darcy… if it wasn’t obvious,” she glances at Clint and finds him watching her and Mack with a confused expression before he shakes it off.

“Riiight, okay. Is he inside? I wanted to see him before she goes in.”

“He is as far as I know. Doc was trying to get him settled in, but he’s been a little,” his gaze ticks to Darcy then back to Clint, “ah… ornery.”

“The term I think you’re looking for is stubborn,” Clint rolls his eyes sliding past her and takes the steps up onto the porch before disappearing into the house.

Darcy and Mack look at each other and she shrugs. Barney approaches and asks her if she wants him to take her stuff in and she tries to tell him she’ll do it but Mack overrides them both. He gets a lackey that’s loitering on the porch to do it and Darcy gives him points for his scary, stern voice. Just as the agent pushes into the house a pretty woman dressed in actual clothes instead of SHIELD black emerges, a scowl on her face and muttering.

“Problem, Doc?”

“Oh, what?” she glances up and sighs, her shoulders slumping a bit at the sight of Mack. “No, he’s just so bloody hardheaded. I feel sorry for the poor girl that’s…” her sentence trails off when she notices Darcy standing next to him, “on her way here. I’m sorry, that’s you isn’t it?” She asks sheepishly and Darcy nods with a raised brow. “How very rude of me, I apologize. I’m Jemma.”

“Darcy,” she smiles.

“It’s lovely to meet you. He really isn’t all that bad, I promise. Trauma can make anyone a little cantankerous,” Jemma offers, her voice going soft at the word ‘trauma’ and Darcy suspects that she’s had her fair share.

“S’oaky, I’m pretty sure I can handle it otherwise Barton wouldn’t have suggested me, right?” Barney laughs to her right and says something Darcy doesn’t quite catch. But before she has the chance to question him, the door opens again. Darcy glances past Jemma and her heart stops for an unidentified amount of time.

“Darce isn’t just a pretty face, Barney. Quit telling my girl lies.”

Clint’s words fall on deaf ears because he’s holding the door open and there’s a guy slowly making his way through it. His shirt is plain black and hadn’t he been a coma? His arms and chest should _not_ make the fabric stretch like that, but sweet Thor do they ever. He’s wearing sweatpants, too but they don’t make him look like he’s a frat guy. No, he looks like ‘ _a cool drink of water but he’s candy coated misery’_ ‘Cowboy Casanova’ helpfully supplies and proceeds to play in her head. It’s like one of those slow-mo movie moments, like the ‘Miss Congeniality’ makeover results scene, and Darcy can’t drag her gaze away from the injured Avenger. Her eyes skip up to his face, thankful that he’s not paying attention to them congregated in the driveway yet. His file said his hair was silver due to whatever HYDRA had done to him but she’s surprised to find a head full of curly, fluffy dark locks. It looks even fluffier than Banner’s and she wants to run her fingers through it.

Oblivious to the sudden silence settled around her, Darcy’s gaze moves from his hair to his scruffy jaw, to full lips, up the slope of his nose, and meet a shockingly intense pair of eyes. Her inner soundtrack clicks over immediately to Kid Rock’s ‘So Hott’ (the explicit version), keeping with the country theme of the day apparently. Locked in a staring contest, Darcy loses spectacularly when Mack clears his throat loudly next to her ear making her jump. She blinks rapidly and glances at him then at Jemma who looks like she understands and feels her pain.

“We really should head out,” Mack remarks and for a minute Darcy wishes with all her might that there’s some mistake and she’s not really supposed to be here.

It doesn’t work.

Jemma agrees as Clint leaps off the porch and motions for her hand. Darcy reluctantly takes it, letting him lead her up to the bottom step where he makes quick introductions. Pietro doesn’t do more than nod at her, leaning against a cane. Jemma kindly interrupts and takes Darcy aside and into the house, issuing instructions that deal with his care and shit Darcy will never remember. She tells her as much and the woman laughs and shows her a thick binder on the counter under the phone that’s mounted on the wall. Darcy stares at the phone cord for a minute because _holy landline, Batman_.

Darcy follows Jemma back outside once she’s assured her that she’ll contact her if she has any questions. Clint tosses her a keychain and she eyes it with a growing sense of dread. Frowning at it, she turns over the only key on the ring to see the ‘Ford’ emblem on it and dangles it on her middle finger like something nasty.

“No, Barton.”

It’s funny when both Clint and Barney turn towards her till Clint nods and says; “Yes, Lewis. If you want to eat, it’s all you’ve got.”

Darcy bites back a groan.

“Hey, what’s wrong with my truck?” Barney asks.

“Not a thing, Barney,” Clint declares and opens his arms wide, wiggling his fingers.

She tamps down the urge to stomp down the steps like a child and edges around Pietro to go down to give Clint a hug. He squeezes her tightly, promising to call and check in and the pit in her stomach grows just a little more. Barney tells her to holler if they need anything, and that they have an open invitation to supper whenever ‘Pete’ is up to it. Clint laughs and Darcy turns in time to catch the dark scowl that paints Pietro’s face. Mack taps the top of the second SUV and gives her a wink before disappearing behind its tinted windows. Jemma waves at her as Barney and Clint turn to get in. Apparently the truck is hers for now.

Clint rolls down his window in the back soon as he gets in and waves at them both. He points at Pietro and gives him his best ‘Serious Natasha’ look, then blows a silly kiss at her. Darcy backs up as they roll away leaving her behind in the dust. Swallowing, she turns and peers curiously up at Pietro. His gaze is lazy as it tracks the SUVs until they’re out of sight, then he turns it on her. He looks her up and down and she supposes it’s only fair since her brain had all but shorted out at the first sight of him. When their eyes meet again, Darcy braces herself this time.

“I suppose it is only the two of us now.”

Darcy can only nod, the bottle opener attached to the key ring in her hand biting into her flesh where she’s gripping it so tight. The inside of her mind resembles that episode of Spongebob when he rids his mind of everything but fine dining and can’t remember his name. There are sirens and warning bells going off, things are burning and all she can do is stare. If he hadn’t ever opened his mouth, perhaps she would have been fine. But he did and now she’s ruined because he has an accent. She’d known that, but knowing and _hearing_ are completely different. And she’s so totally screwed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters to start with... that's good, right?


	3. Nurse? Agent? Odd Duck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up right where we left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a warning here; we learn a little about Pietro's injuries and it's slightly detailed, so heads up.

 

Darcy climbs the steps and follows Pietro into the house. When she closes the door and locks it for good measure, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place makes her want to cry. That Cowboy Casanova song had been spot on with the ‘you better run for your life’ line. While her dating history isn’t much to write home about, she knows that what she just stepped into has the potential to be very bad. Not to mention that her last relationship, and she uses the term loosely, had ended with her tasing ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ (and no, she doesn’t mean Voldemort, but Ian might as well have been) before he could make off with Janey’s equipment. Fucking HYDRA and their rats. Besides, Pietro gives off the ‘I-wink-and-you-drop-your-panties’ vibe so strongly that she worries for her sanity when he’s actually fully recovered and—yeah she really doesn’t need to think about that.

Clearing her throat, Darcy pushes away from the door and turns to take in her surroundings. It’s all open space; the living room flowing seamlessly into a cozy kitchen, a table strategically placed the only thing separating them. Sunlight streams through the windows making the house look down right cheery. She never would have pegged Barton for an actual farm boy, but she can see it now. There’s a dartboard on the wall by the phone that she didn’t notice at first and dusty boots are abandoned to the left of the door. There’s a _flannel_ coat haphazardly hung, too. Oh, she’s so going to tease him.

“So, you are a nurse?”

Darcy jumps and turns to the man sitting on an ugly brown couch. She’d almost forgotten he was there. Shaking her head, she pulls her bag off her shoulder and steps fully into the living room.

“A SHIELD agent, then?”

“No,” Darcy shakes her head again and notes the return of the dark scowl she’d seen earlier. “I’m actually an assistant.”

“Assistant?”

“You’ve met Thor, right?” he gives her a nod of agreement. “Well, his girlfriend is my boss… But if you want to get technical about it, I’m Pepper Pott’s assistant.”

“I have never heard of her.”

“Oh, she’s awesome! She’s Tony’s, better half. I keep her sane while Stark attempts to drive her loony,” Darcy trails off when Pietro suddenly pushes to his feet, a flash of pain shading his pale face. She automatically reaches out and makes to move to his side but his expression is enough to stall her movements. She watches with concern as he grits his teeth, his knuckles white and straining around the grip of his cane. When he meets her eyes, his are hard and shuttered.

“I need to rest.”

With that he limps around the couch and it takes a minute for a confused Darcy to find her voice again. “Hey, wait… We need to pick rooms!”

Pietro stops but doesn’t turn around. “I already have one.”

“Okay, I just meant, if you wanted the master or whatever, I don’t mind. You pick!” She tries to lighten the mood.

“I have no choice,” is his quiet, bitter reply and Darcy is left standing in the living room listening to him disappear down the hall. She jumps when a door slams. Well, that could have gone better.

Unsure of what she’d said wrong, Darcy decides to hell with him. If he wants to be a grouch, then she can ignore him. He’ll get his meds and she’ll shove food down his throat if she has to, but she sure as shit doesn’t have to put up with this. So she takes her time, looking around some more, snooping really, before she goes in search of her room upstairs. Clint’s master is messy, but not disgusting, and she sighs kicking her shoes off adding them to the pile in the corner. First she picks up the laundry scattered about and shoves it into a hamper she finds in the attached bathroom, then she goes about unpacking. Shoving Clint’s clothes aside in the closet to make room for hers is a weird experience. Finding a black bra in the drawer, that she prays is Nat’s, is even weirder, though. Saving her teal suitcase for last, Darcy lugs it up onto the bed and plops down.

There’s a bookcase in the corner that’s home to a bunch of odds and ends, but mostly things of the archery/spy variety so she chooses to keep her stuff in the suitcase for the time being. Once her bedding, laptop, and elephant are happy with their temporary home atop Clint’s really comfortable bed, she opens the windows to air the room out and get rid of the stale stench. Then she slips into the bathroom to freshen up and changes into her usual comfy outfit of yoga pants and a t-shirt. This one she stole from Jane and has no clue what it says, but it’s something brainy. Flipping on the ceiling fan, she starfishes across the bed with a happy groan, glad to be somewhat settled. Rolling onto her back, she digs her phone out of her pocket and checks her messages (two; Clint and Coulson), and Facebook. She really wishes Asgard had service because she misses Jane. Dropping her phone onto her stomach, Darcy closes her eyes for a second. It’s nice with the air circulating, no sirens or horns blaring, no one yelling in Spanish next door. ‘ _I could get used to this’_ is her last thought before drifting off.

 

*

 

A loud _thump_ jars her awake. Sitting up utterly disoriented, Darcy grabs for her taser and holds it up in front of her as she looks around. The room is the color of a setting sun and the fan leaves goose bumps on her arms. It takes a minute for her to realize where she is and remember why, and she drops the phone she’s holding like an idiot. A curse draws her attention back to why she’s awake and she climbs off the bed, bolting for the door. How she manages not to break her neck getting down the stairs, she will never know, but she does. Darcy skids to a halt as she reaches the living room. Braced on the back of the couch stands Pietro and the look on his face is so defeated that Darcy quickly forgets her earlier resolve. In three steps she’s beside him and resting a hand on his arm. His head snaps up and there’s a moment of relief but he replaces it with disdain in a blink and shakes off her hand like it burns.

“I do not need your help.”

“What happened?”

“I—I dropped my stick,” he motions to the cane lying harmless at his feet.

Darcy bends and picks it up without another word and hands it to him. He doesn’t thank her and she steps away. He offers her what can barely be considered a nod and shuffles right past her, back presumably to his room.

“Was there a reason you were in here?”

“I am hungry.”

“Oh…” her stomach chooses the opportune moment to remind her that she hasn’t eaten since that muffin hours ago either. “I’ll see what we’ve got?” she questions.

Pietro merely waves a dismissive hand towards her and hobbles back down the hall. Darcy plants her palms on her hips and huffs. Men. Pivoting on her bare toes, she heads into the kitchen to raid the fridge. Options are pretty slim which means there’s gonna have to be a trip to the store in the next few days or they’re going to starve. But, thankfully, Laura Barton is a saint and there’s some kind of casserole on the top shelf hiding behind a six-pack. The pink post-it on the top claims it’s chicken casserole and that there are rolls in the cabinet above the microwave. Following the directions on the note, she preheats the oven and searches for the pack of rolls.

Once the bread is found and she puts the casserole in, Darcy looks around for something to occupy her time. There’s an ancient radio jammed into the corner and she unearths it, knocking off dust, and hoping there are more than just country stations out here. Thank, Thor, there are and as 90s-ish alternative rock fills the kitchen, she picks up the binder Jemma left her and sits at the table. Flipping through it, Darcy learns a little more about just how severe Pietro’s injuries are. Two of the bullets that hit him apparently severed his spinal cord, one shot straight through his right lung and another missed his heart by mere centimeters. If that wasn’t bad enough, the blood loss was ridiculous. Banner’s drug and Pietro’s accelerated healing factor was enough to keep him alive until some exceptional doctor got a hold of him. There’s no name, so she guesses either Jemma is a lot more awesome than at first glance or the doctor’s identity is classified.

Either way, the fact that Pietro is alive, let alone up and _mobile_ after that, is a miracle.

Feeling kinda small, Darcy flips to the page that lists his medication and wonders if he’s in pain. Was that why he’d really ventured out? Shit. Closing the binder, she checks the oven then fills a cup with cold water and rifles through the four orange bottles lined up neatly next to the coffeemaker. Shaking out a couple of the pain pills that don’t mention anything about being harmful when taken with food, Darcy takes a deep breath and marches to Pietro’s door. Tapping lightly, she calls his name.

“What?”

“Um… can I come in?”

“Why?”

Darcy rolls her eyes and turns the knob giving him fair warning before pushing into the room. The room is simple, beige walls, big bed, nightstand, and a desk in the corner. She almost feels bad that she’s in the master, but that’s upstairs anyway. Pietro is propped up against the headboard by what looks like an army of pillows, his arms are crossed over his chest, and there’s a bored expression on his face. Darcy walks slowly into the room.

“There’s food in the oven. Hope Laura, that’s Barton’s sister-in-law, is a good cook because that’s what we’re having. Nice lady, I met her earlier…” at Pietro’s quirked brow Darcy realizes she’s rambling, as she’s prone to do in awkward situations. “Right, here, I figured it might be time for a couple of these,” she reaches his side and holds out the pills and the water to him.

“I am not to take those until bed.”

“Yeah, well if you take them now then they’ll be in your system and after you eat you’ll be ready to sleep with a nice full stomach.”

“You are an odd person.”

“Thanks—I think.” Pietro takes the cup from her hand and she drops the pills into his palm before stepping back. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready.” Giving him a small smile and a nod, Darcy turns and makes her exit, pulling his door shut before he can say anything else to make her butterflies attempt to perform Swan Lake. Back in the kitchen, she makes herself busy rummaging through the kitchen for plates and cutlery. The smell of the casserole is mouth watering as she hums along to the radio and sets the table. By the time the oven timer dings, she’s drank half a beer, put on a pot of coffee for later, and managed to make sense of Jemma’s handwriting. She’s finishing an air-guitar riff to a Pearl Jam song when a throat clears behind her and makes her yelp. Spinning around, Darcy claps a hand over her heart.

“Jesus, you scared me.” He’s smiling and Darcy feels dizzy. She drains her beer and turns the radio down a little. “I was about to come get you.”

“I see.”

“Sit? I’ll bring it to you.”

He nods and actually does as she asks. Grabbing potholders, Darcy retrieves the dish from the oven and carefully carries it to the table. Once it’s served up and they’ve both dug in, the silence is actually sort of comfortable. That is until he breaks it, his smile still present and growing.

“Have you been playing long?”

Darcy looks up, her fork stilling an inch from her mouth. “Huh?”

“The guitar?”

“Very funny,” she glares at him and ignores the blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I could not help myself.”

“Yeah, well, you better be nice to me or you won’t eat for however long we’re here.”

“You would let me starve?”

“Are all men this helpless or is it only the ones that join the Avengers?”

“Now who is funny?”

Darcy snorts and gets up refilling his glass with water. He gives it a frown when she sets it down and glances at her fresh beer. She shakes her head. “No alcohol with your meds, doctor’s orders.” Pietro sighs and tucks back into his food. The silence reigns again and they both go back for seconds. When their plates are empty, he’s the one to speak again, this time without a smile and quieter.

“I am sorry about earlier. I am not used to being so—so normal. It is strange to me, to be _slow_ again.”

“S’okay, it isn’t a big deal.”

“You know what happened?”

“Yep, you’re a hero and a miracle all wrapped up into a big taco shell of awesome.”

Pietro lowers his gaze to his empty plate and shakes his head, sounding sad. “I am no miracle. I…” He glances up at her with a frown, “You have read my file, yes?” Darcy nods knowing he’s not just talking about the medical file on the counter. “I volunteered to become a weapon, Wanda (he whispers her name like it’s sacred) and I, we wanted to kill your Stark. I am no hero either.”

“Dude, you’ve met Natasha, right? She didn’t have a choice. Cap’s buddy, that he’s out looking for, he didn’t have one either. Stark did, Barton did. Thor, well, he’s weird. My point is, it doesn’t matter if you had a choice or not. What matters is who you are _now_ , and you’re alive. So take it and run with it, no pun intended.” Pietro cocks his head to the right like a confused puppy and Darcy takes a swig of her beer and points it at him. “You’ll get better; I’ll make sure of it.”

“You are very strange.”

“So you’ve said,” Darcy grins with a ‘take-me-or-leave-me’ shrug and pushes to her feet. “There isn’t any dessert unfortunately, but I will put it on the list. We’ll make one tomorrow, alright?” Pietro nods and Darcy gives him a thumbs up. Gathering their plates, she takes them to the sink to wash by hand because she’s used to it due to the fact that her apartment doesn’t have a dishwasher. When the leftovers (barely a bite, he can seriously eat) are in the fridge, and the dishes are done, she turns around to find an empty table. She didn’t even hear him get up. Turning the radio off, Darcy switches the lights off, checks the locks, then tiptoes into the hall. Pressing her ear to his closed door, she’s met with silence so she goes upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, curled in on himself under a blanket, Pietro ponders over the strange woman’s words. He knows that she was only trying to make him feel less pathetic. And her words have planted a tiny seed of hope into his mind. They’d told him he’d died, told him for his safety he couldn’t see his sister… She doesn’t know he’s alive, and it’s that thought that douses the flame of his hopes. If he never recovers, he’ll never see her again. There will be no place for him among the Avengers, no use for him. He squeezes his eyes shut and there’s wetness on his lashes. As he’s done for years, after losing his parents, then through the hell HYDRA inflicted; silently and in the dark, he cries himself to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a weird mood today so you get a weird chapter. Also, I know this ended on a sad note, but things will look brighter. Eventually.


	4. Damn romance novel...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy ventures into town.

 

They make it to Wednesday on scarce conversation and sandwiches. Darcy notices that Pietro’s demeanor resembles that of an alley cat after their first dinner. He’s moody and stays in his room, only appearing when she comes down for food. She takes to leaving his meds out on the counter with water when he’s set to take them and hides out in Barton’s room. Thankfully there’s internet and decent signal so she tries to get some work done while she’s hiding from her grouchy ward. But their weird routine is disrupted on Wednesday morning with the shrill ring of the phone. Darcy, fresh from the shower groans and grabs the nearest thing and throws it on over her wet towel cursing Clint with every step down the stairs. She picks it up on the sixth ring with a breathless hello.

“Darcy?” Laura asks tentatively.

“Yeah, sorry, I haven’t found the cordless yet and was upstairs,” she jams the phone between her shoulder and ear, batting the cord away as she glances down at what she’d pulled on; one of Barton’s flannels. Ugh.

“Oh! It’s probably in his office.”

“Barton has an office?” Darcy questions as she buttons up the shirt, glad that it hits her mid-thigh, and shimmies out of her towel-skirt. Using the damp fabric, she blots her wet hair and switches the phone to her other hand.

“Yes, off of the laundry room.”

“Ah, I’ll have to snoop better,” Darcy winces at her choice of words but Laura just laughs.

“Anyway, I called to see if you wanted to take a trip into town? I need to pick some stuff up and thought we could go by the store.”

“Yes! We ran out of sandwich meat last night, actually. And that casserole was awesome, by the way.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” there’s a smile in her voice. “So, is an hour good for you?”

“Uh… I’m not sure how we can—I mean I don’t want to leave—”

“No, no! Bring Pietro with you. Barney is off today so I’m dumping the kids on him. They can sit around for a couple hours and watch cartoons. It won’t hurt them all that much.”

“I like the way you think. Okay, that sounds great.”

“You remember your way back here?”

“A right and you’re the closest house,” Darcy makes a face at her horrible directions.

“Correct. Good. We’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Awesome, bye!” Darcy hangs up the phone and turns around, yelping with fright and holding her towel out like a weapon. Pietro merely quirks a brow at her and leans on his cane. “I’m going to buy you a bell.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay! I need to talk to you anyway.” At this his brows furrow and she suspects he’d be crossing his arms if he could. “That was Laura, she’s going into town and we’re out of food.”

“Have fun, then.”

“Not so fast,” she grimaces at her words when his jaw ticks. “You’re going with me, I mean! Not to the store, just to their house. She said Barney’s off and you can stay there while we’re gone.”

“I do not need a babysitter.”

“Too bad because I’m not leaving you here alone. So we both go, or we both stay and starve.”

“You are _infuriating_.”

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs and moves back to the counter, digging through a junk drawer for a pen and paper. With both in hand, she spins back around to notice him eyeing her legs and remembers that she’s wearing Barton’s shirt and nothing else. Ignoring the heat that paints her cheeks, Darcy walks across the kitchen to where he stands and none too gently slaps the legal pad and pen she found to his chest. She also ignores the warmth that practically radiates from him this close. His eyes narrow and Darcy realizes that he’s taller than she initially thought. Swallowing around the lump forming in her throat when his right hand reaches between them to wrap around hers and the pen, Darcy meets his gaze. “Make a list of what you want and I’ll get it. I’m not a great cook, but I’ll try not to poison us.” Without a word from him in response, Darcy yanks her hand free and brushes past him. “I’m going to get dressed. We’re supposed to be at Laura’s in an hour,” she calls over her shoulder.

Once she’s safely locked in the bathroom Darcy stares at her reflection not liking what she finds. Her face is flushed, she’d failed to button the shirt completely and her cleavage is heaving as she sucks air into her lungs. His hand had been _so_ warm and she could smell some kind of soap lingering around him. Or maybe that had only been his natural scent, but whatever it was she’s pretty sure she wanted to bathe in it. Her traitorous mind decides to wonder what he’d smell like _up close_ , even closer, in the juncture of shoulder and neck just under his pulse… what he would _taste_ like. Jesus. She’s insane, the man just came back from the dead and these are not appropriate thoughts she’s having. With a shaking hand she reaches out turning on the cold water and promptly shoves her hot face under the spigot.

After she’s literally cooled down, dressed, and swiped on a little war paint, Darcy grabs her phone and the truck key that’s now attached to a set of house keys. Making her way back downstairs she finds it empty but there’s a list on the kitchen table. Reading over it, she adds a few things then plops down onto the couch to wait. She messes with her phone, texting Jane even though she won’t get it, beats her own score on Tetris, and is scrolling through Facebook when Pietro’s bedroom door opens. Putting her phone away, she cranes her neck and watches him come down the hall. He pauses behind her and Darcy eyes the weird looking pillow tucked under his arm.

“I am to use it until I’m back to ‘normal’,” he comments with a sigh.

“Cool. You’re gonna need it. That truck’s shocks are shit,” Darcy offers a small smile. “But I’ll try to be gentle with you.” The right corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but he opts to frown instead. Darcy gets up and holds out a hand at which his frown deepens. “Sweet, Thor, give me the pillow?”

“I can take it.”

“I know that, but I’m trying to be nice.”

Pietro stares at her so intently that she begins to wonder if she’s got mascara on her face or something. He finally huffs a breath and pushes the pillow into her arms then starts for the door. Darcy smiles at him, tucking it under her own arm and barely refrains from asking if that had been so hard. She’s learning to pick her battles. Outside, she locks up and makes her way to the truck and a squinting Maximoff. Inching him out of her way with the pillow acting as a buffer, she opens his door and adjusts the surprisingly heavy pillow. She wants so badly to help him into the truck but his expression is one of sheer determination as he uses his cane to help maneuver himself into the seat. When he rests back against the pillow with a wince, Darcy doesn’t think before she reaches for his seatbelt and buckles him in. It’s only when he whispers “Thank you” by her ear that she realizes what she’s done.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, quickly backing out of his space and clearing her throat. Making sure he’s in, she shuts his door and rounds the truck, taking a deep, resetting breath before getting in. Buckling her own seatbelt, Darcy thanks the gods that the truck’s engine mixed with the radio when she turns the key is too loud for conversation. It’s hard work avoiding potholes and she drives like her granny used to just to do so. The few times she glances over at Pietro, his eyes are closed and his fingers are wrapped around the door handle, looking somewhat relaxed. Darcy counts it as a win. She catches herself singing along to the radio after turning onto the main road and completely ignores the gaze she can feel boring into the side of her head. So she knows some country songs, what of it? She grew up in the south and apparently Barton had more motives than just babysitting when he vouched for her.

Before long the bigger Barton farm house comes into view and she shores up her nostalgia for the time being. She doesn’t even get the truck into park and Pietro has his door open, though, so she guesses he’s had all the help he can handle for one day. With a sigh, Darcy shuts off the engine and climbs out, moving to Pietro’s side, a little surprised that he even waited on her. Silently they move towards the house and climb the steps together. It’s slow going.

“MOM, THEY’RE HERE!” echoes from out of the house before they can knock. She and Pietro glance at each other. Yeah, she’s not big on kids. She gives him a shrug and he actually smiles a tiny, barely there upturn of his lips. Success.

“Hey! Come on in,” Barney calls as he approaches the screen door with an easy smile. Darcy’s still baffled he’s related to Clint. They look nothing alike… except for the eyes, and arms. Darcy opens the screen and holds it open daring Pietro to object.

The house is homey, toys scattered among evidence of a busy family, and the layout similar to Clint’s house but slightly bigger. They follow Barney into the living room but Laura calls from the kitchen so Darcy leaves Pietro to fend for himself and heads in that direction. The woman smiles at her and Darcy settles into a kitchen chair.

“Want some coffee?”

“Gods, yes.”

Laura grins and pours her a mug, joining her at the table. “I’m down to one cup a day because of this little guy,” she rubs a hand over her belly.

“When are you due?”

“Five weeks,” she groans.

Darcy nods and takes a sip of her coffee, relishing in the bitter taste of caffeine. “I’m sorry you can’t have more than one cup because this is perfect.”

“Ha, it’s alright. While I can only have one cup, Barney is down to one beer a day in an effort to be supportive,” her eyes twinkle with mirth.

Darcy snickers then remembers; “Oh! That reminds me,” turning around she eyes the men who have settled into the living room around a sports channel. “Barton, Pietro is not allowed to have beer. It will mess with his meds.” Maximoff’s eyes narrow while Barney just gives him a sympathetic glance and her a thumbs up. Turning back to Laura she shrugs. “Jemma, that’s the doc, she’d have my as—hello tiny human…” Darcy trails off when a girl of six or seven, she doesn’t have a clue which, runs up to her mother.

“Momma, who’s that?” she points at Darcy.

“She’s Uncle Clint’s friend.”

“Like Auntie Nat?”

Darcy almost chokes on a drink of coffee.

“No, not exactly. She works with him, yes, but it’s not like that.”

The little girl nods and gives Darcy a curious once over. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No!” Darcy declares abruptly and shakes her head rapidly. “No, he isn’t. He works with Clint, too and he got hurt. I’m just making sure he gets better.”

“Did you kiss his boo-boos? Mommy says that makes them all better.”

Laura snorts and holds her stomach. Darcy glares at the older woman and shakes her head again. “No, I didn’t… His boo-boos are inside, so I can only make sure he eats his soup and takes his medicine.”

“Oooh… Okay,” the girl nods, satisfied, and walks away.

Laura breaks into laughter. “I—I’m sorry… she’s so nosey.”

“It’s okay, just wasn’t expecting an interrogation,” Darcy sucks down her coffee in an effort to hide her blush.

Sniffling, Laura grins and heaves herself up from her seat. “I’m going to visit the little girls’ room then we’ll go.”

Darcy nods, content to finish her coffee and avoid the little people lurking in the house. When she’s finished, she gets up though and wanders into the living room. Pietro glances at her and she smiles. He looks away. Biting back a sigh, Darcy notices they didn’t bring his pillow in so she goes to fetch it. When she gets back inside, Laura is stepping into her shoes and rifling through her pocketbook. Darcy moves to the couch and tosses the pillow onto Pietro’s lap. He looks up at her with a confused face and she only shrugs. She watches him contemplate it for a moment before he scoots to the edge of the cushion and hands the pillow back up to her with an expectant look. Snatching it from his grasp, Darcy wedges it between him and the couch, making sure it’s in the right position and he’s comfortable before straightening. When he meets her eyes again they aren’t so shuttered as before and he says something in some language she’s never heard.

“Don’t mention it…” she breathes, her stomach warm with something she can’t name at the way the weird language literally rolled off his tongue. A smile creeps across his mouth and changes the entire countenance of his features leaving Darcy’s thoughts in ruin. Laura touching her elbow makes her whip around, jarring her from whatever spell that single smile held over her. She thought his sister was the witch, not him.

“You ready?”

“Yep!” Darcy responds a little too brightly.

 

*

 

The town is all of twenty minutes away and it is tiny. There’s a Wal-Mart that’s only a couple years old at the end of Main Street, a Mom and Pop market next door to the town hall, a Cinema that only plays second run movies, and other various small shops tucked neatly up and down the street. It’s down right picturesque and Darcy is equally terrified and endeared. She’d grown up in a town much like this one. Laura tells her that the hospital is in the next county over but there’s an Urgent Care facility across the street from Wal-Mart. This worries her but Laura waves her off, promising that she has the doctor on speed dial.

They divide their time between running Laura’s errands and getting enough groceries to feed an army (plus the Avengers). Before they head back to the house, Laura pulls into a Sonic Drive-In and buys herself fries and both of them a shake. She’s half-way through hers when Laura glances at her with a curious face that matches that of her daughter’s.

“You like him?”

“What? Who?”

“Pietro,” the woman smirks knowingly.

“Are we in elementary again?” Darcy huffs before remembering she doesn’t know Laura all that well.

“I’m just curious!”

“It’s only been four-ish days!” Darcy counters.

Laura slurps a drink of her shake and shrugs. “I loved Barney the first second I laid eyes on him. I also hated him, knew he’d be trouble.” Darcy’s brows raise and she turns in her seat to look at the pregnant woman. “When we met, I was a secretary for the contractor he’d just been hired under. He asked me to marry him six days after we met,” she laughs and glances at Darcy. “I said no.”

“That’s so romantic.”

“It was annoying!” They both grin and Laura picks up a French fry she’d ordered with her treat and dips it into her shake. “He was so persistent but I kept on turning him down. Then about three months in, he was on a job and there was an accident. Scaffolding crumbled and took him down, pinned him under it. It was the most terrifying three days of my life; not knowing whether he was going to make it or not,” she eats her dripping fry and licks her fingers. “When he woke up and they let me see him, I told him I’d marry him if he promised not be so stupid,” she pats her stomach with a fond, warm smile. “The rest is history.

“Wow…” Darcy takes a sip of her shake letting Laura’s words roll around in her head.

“Yeah, imagine my surprise when he introduced me to Clint. Here I am freaked because of a work accident and Barney’s brother is an Avenger. Talk about scared. But Clint’s been nothing but awesome keeping everything away from us. He and Barney haven’t always been so close.”

Darcy hums her agreement and finishes her shake.

“So, do you?”

Darcy rolls her eyes then searches Laura’s curious gaze. Janey’s so far away and she can’t get drunk and rant to Stark, so what does she have to lose? “Yeah… he’s a piece of work but he seems like a nice guy under all of the gruffness.”

“Well there you go,” Laura wipes her mouth on a napkin and starts the van. “Give him some time and see where it goes.”

Nodding, Darcy settles back into her seat, sweet tooth sated, and thoughts whirling.

When they get back to the house, Barney and Pietro are sitting on the porch watching the kids play. Barney says something to the other man and comes down to help. Once they get the groceries separated and into the truck bed, Darcy wipes the light sheen of sweat on her forehead off with the hem of her shirt and glances up at the porch. Pietro sits watching her but he’s too far off for her to calculate his gaze. She walks up the steps and lightly pats his shoulder as she enters the house, tired and anxious to get the frozen stuff in the freezer. After a quick goodbye, and a promise to come to dinner the following week, she goes back outside where Pietro now stands.

“You ready?”

“I am hungry.”

“You have a bottomless pit for a stomach,” Darcy comments and oh-so-casually hooks her arm through his left one. He looks down at where their limbs are linked then up to her face. Darcy just ignores him and ushers him down the steps and into the truck. The ride back is even quieter than the one there had been, but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence.

Back at Barton’s, Darcy makes it a point to tell him he isn’t helping with the groceries. And she ignores the frown he shoots her. She makes sure him and his pillow make it back inside and gets to work lugging the groceries in. It only takes her four trips and her arms are aching when she’s finished. Taking a minute, she flips on the TV for the noise and kicks her shoes off, then stares at the mess of bags loading the table down.

“I can help,” Pietro says from behind her and Darcy glances at him over her shoulder.

“You gonna work for your lunch?”

“If I must,” he deadpans.

Snorting, Darcy gestures to the bags. “All right, start unloading, then. Stuff that goes in the freezer and fridge can go on the counter, but just leave everything else on the table. I’m still not sure how the hell Barton arranges his cabinets.” Pietro nods and gets to it. They work around each other as Darcy fights to arrange everything just how she likes it and he does as she asked. It isn’t long before everything is put away and the table is clear of bags. Darcy fills two cups up with water and collapses ungracefully into a kitchen chair, scoots one glass across the table towards an empty chair, and guzzles half of hers. Pietro takes his glass but doesn’t sit down. He watches her over the rim as she wipes her mouth off on the back of her hand. “I’ll make us something to eat in a minute, I swear.”

“I will hold you to that.”

“You’re secretly cocky aren’t you?”

“It is not a secret.”

Darcy arches a brow at him. He sends her another smile and leaves her, going into the living room. Her stomach rumbles and protests its lack of food and abundance of butterflies. She stares at his retreating form and sighs. Damn Laura Barton for telling her romantic tales. Getting up, she pours the rest of her water down the drain. Lunch, right.

She fixes them a couple pizzas and instead of making him get up, she cuts them and takes pans and all to the living room. A quick trip back into the kitchen and she produces paper plates and napkins along with a fresh glass of ice water for both of them. He watches her as she heaps slices on a plate and hands it to him. He thanks her quietly. Grabbing the remote she channel surfs, leaving it on some weird 80s movie when there’s nothing on and tucks into her food with a sigh. When the pans are nearly empty, she’s full and feeling like a lazy cat soaking up the sun, she stretches out her legs and props her feet up on the coffee table next to her empty plate.

“The Bartons are nice, yes?”

Letting her head lull to the right, Darcy offers Pietro a lazy smile. “Mhm, they’re good people.” He nods and turns his attention back to the TV where some cop is yelling and running after a car. Darcy stares unashamedly at his profile. She’s a little sleepy and that’s what she’s gonna blame her next question on. “I thought your hair was supposed to be silver… Isn’t that why they call you Quicksliver?”

His head turns slowly in her direction and his gaze scrutinizes her momentarily. “I am no longer ‘quick’.”

“So?”

“No one is to know I am alive. My hair would have been what you say—a dead giveaway?” Darcy nods. “No ‘quick’; no ‘silver’.”

“They dyed your hair like some kind of person in witness protection?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your natural color, though?” She asks glancing from his stubble-going-beard and back to his hair.

“Before—yes.”

“Ah. Sorry, I was just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he arches a seemingly amused brow at her.

“Yeah, but satisfaction brought it back!”

He smiles for the third time, a spark in his eyes that she hasn’t seen before this time. Darcy blushes but does nothing to hide it. Pietro eyes her, gaze ticking between the heated apples of her cheeks and her own eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, but the smile stays in place as he turns back to the movie. Darcy pries her gaze away from his face and tries to focus on the TV but it’s futile; she’s asleep in less than seven minutes.

 

       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a Daryl Dixon line (I'm so worried for my baby. Stupid TWD giving me gray hair.)


	5. A lesson in gravity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Restlessness is a bitch.

 

Darcy is a trooper until Saturday when the restlessness sets in. Once upon a time ago, when she was a teenager, staying at home curled up with a good book had been her idea of fun. If she closes her eyes she can still smell it; her grandmother’s perfume and the meal of the day, simmering in a big pot on the stove, wafting through the open windows of the house she grew up in. That front porch had been her sanctuary, her anchor in reality when she fell headlong into another adventure and let the words on the pages carry her out into a sea of the fantastical. There’s an ache in her chest before she even rolls out of bed, bleary eyed and weary. She wants to call Clint and yell at him because he is a whole lot less stupid than people make him out to be. He knows about her past and she’d been an idiot to think this had simply been _just_ a babysitting/nurse job.

While in the shower she idly wonders why her friends always feel the need to pick on her ‘ _for the greater good_ ’. God, how she hates that phrase. She’d given up her southern belle life and ran away with Jane and it had been wonderful. She’d met Thor and superheroes—and life is _good_. Turning her face into the spray, Darcy squeezes her eyes shut letting the water pelt down on her, imagining that all her memories are being washed down the drain. She’d gotten too comfortable in the city with all of its continuous chaos, too settled up in Stark’s tower like an antisocial princess. Her quaint little apartment, tucked into a musty old building in a forgotten corner of Manhattan, had become her Fortress of Solitude. And up until Coulson and Daisy had shown up, she’d been perfectly content with her situation. Fuck Clint Barton, man.

She scribbles a note and leaves it on the counter next to Pietro’s meds for him to find.

Setting out dressed in a stolen flannel, her most comfortable jeans, and the only pair of boots she’d brought, Darcy goes in search of adventure. Hiking her backpack up onto her shoulders, and taking a sip of her coffee, she leaves out the back door. Upon first appearance it looks like there’s a forest in Clint’s backyard, but ten minutes in and she comes out the other side. Her breath hitches at the sight that greets her. Growing to the left is a copse of three trees where the mini-forest peters off, their branches so entangled that they look to be dancing, in perpetual motion. A lonely tire swing is rigged from one of the branches and sways with the beginnings of a breeze. But what catches her eye is the little pond next to the trees. It isn’t big at all, but there’s a rickety looking dock that’s half sunk on the opposite side. The morning sun makes the surface of the cloudy water sparkle and Darcy swears that she can see Clint and Barney as kids jumping from the swing into the water, splashing like mad.

Beyond the pond is nothing but open field as far as she can see. Her heart beats happily in her chest, the urge to take her shoes off and run through the knee-high grass overwhelming. But, not particularly willing to risk snake bite while alone, she settles for tossing down a blanket at the trunk of the farthest tree. Picking at a bagel she’d had enough sense to pack, and finishing her coffee, she watches the sun get higher in the sky. She misses New York and Janey, but she has to admit that this is pretty damn nice. Stretching out in the shade of the tree, and picking out an instrumental playlist on her phone, Darcy fishes a book from her backpack and settles in.

The shrill tone of her phone ringing, (an actual ringtone set to alert her to unknown numbers) an unknown amount of time later, yanks her reluctantly away from her book. _Aw, Sirius_ , she thinks and closes the Marauder’s story for the time being. Plucking the offending device off the blanket, she answers distractedly.

“Marshall’s Morgue; You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em!”

“Eh… Darcy?”

“Yes, Maximoff?”

“You said you would not be going far…” he trails off uncertainly.

“I did, yes. And?”

“Why are you at a morgue?”

Laughter bubbles up into her throat and she can’t contain it. She tries and fails spectacularly. She hears him sigh impatiently. “Sorry— _sorry_ , I just. Okay, I’m good. No, it was a joke. I’m not in a morgue. Anywho, what’s up?”

“Mrs. Barton called and I was unsure what to tell her.”

“Laura called?” She sits up and starts putting her things away at that. “Is she alright? The baby?”

“No, she and the boy are fine. She said something of dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh! Well, that’s okay. I’ll just call her back. What did you tell her?”

“That I would call you immediately.”

“Awesome. What time is it anyway? I’ve sorta lost track of my mind today.”

“It is going on three.”

“Shit. Have you eaten?” Darcy hauls her blanket up, shaking it out before shoving it into her backpack.

“The two sandwiches left from last night…”

“You ate my sub?!”

“—I was hungry.”

“You’re a black hole! I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she rolls her eyes and hangs up on him.

The trek back to the house takes no time. When she sweeps into the kitchen, Pietro is sat at the kitchen table, empty plates at his left elbow and bent over the binder Jemma left behind.  He looks up at her, brows rising as he takes her in.

“Where have you been?”

“Out exploring.”

“Rolling on the ground like a small animal?”

“What?” She frowns at his description as she hangs her backpack on the chair opposite of his.

He makes a vague gesture at his head. “You have leaves in your hair.”

Darcy reaches up and sure enough; there are leaves scattered in her clean hair. Shrugging she picks them out. “I wanted to check out the place.” Getting mad when he shakes his head to let her know she didn’t get all of them out, she flips her hair over and shakes it out.

He mutters in that weird language and pushes to his feet, motioning for her with a “Come here.”

With a frown, Darcy skirts the table and turns her back to him. She feels the feather light touches of his hands gathering her hair, and smoothing it where it’d been wildly shaken. Shivering at the brush of his fingers against her nape, she talks to ignore the warmth in her stomach. “I found a spot about ten minutes from the back door. It isn’t much of a hike or anything, and it’s peaceful. I was thinking maybe, if you’re going as stir crazy as I am, we could pack a picnic and go back tomorrow? I mean, I think—”

“Are you asking me on a date?” he interrupts.

Her rambling comes to a screeching halt at not only the question but at his warm breath ghosting across the right side of her neck. Darcy blinks and opens her mouth to respond, only to close it right back. It takes a lot to make her speechless, or make her internal monologue stutter, and she’ll be damned if he keeps doing this. Swallowing thickly, she steps away from him. “Dude, no. I just thought it’d be nice to get you some fresh air and a little sun!” Humor is her best friend in uncomfortable situations. “You _are_ looking kind of pale after all. Or will that burn you? You’re from Romania, right?” She gives him her innocent smile and wide eyes.

“Like I have not heard that one before.”

“Really? Damn.”

“I assure you I am not a creature of the night… unless you are into that kind of thing?” He arches a curious brow.

She glares at his growing smirk. “No thanks, Edweird.”

“Please, I am much more handsome than that one.”  

Darcy stares at him for a good thirty seconds before his full grin makes her burst into laughter. “You’ve seen Twilight. God help us all.”

“Do not tell anyone, please.”

“Blackmail!” Darcy points at him. She is so going to make him watch all of the movies she brought with her now. Carding her hand through her hair, she takes a deep breath and moves back around the table to grab her backpack. “First, I’m gonna go change then we’re gonna watch Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” She pats his shoulder in passing, ignoring his sullen glare. “Don’t worry, there are boobs in it, you’ll survive.”

“Pizza?” is his only comment and Darcy laughs all the way up the stairs.

That evening they do indeed have pizza. Darcy makes it from scratch. Well, mostly. Her crust is store bought, but they put it all together. She calls Laura back while it’s cooking and reassures her that she didn’t get lost or abandon her poor ward. Pietro actually pouts at her when she says this and she has to face the wall to keep from laughing again. By the time the smell coming from the oven is making her mouth water, the sun’s just beginning to set. They agree to eat in the living room and soon the pizza is devoured.

After clearing their dishes, Darcy insists on watching the previously mentioned vampire drama much to Pietro’s protests. But he quickly gives in when she promises to protect him. She knows it’s flirting with disaster, but she can’t help herself. His smiles are easier, his shoulders relaxing, and he’s coming out of his shell the more time they spend on Barton’s couch. So it’s with that in mind that she drags her faded purple and orange afghan downstairs and turns all the lights off. She doesn’t necessarily _snuggle_ up to him, but it’s a bit difficult to share a smaller blanket with someone and _not_ get a little close. They watch the movie with her running commentary. It’s only when the credits start to roll that she realizes that she _is_ tucked perfectly into his left side. As the last song plays, haunting in its eerie melody, Pietro tugs on one of her curls and admits that he liked the movie. Ripe with victory and tummy-dwelling butterflies going for a joyride, Darcy gives him a genuine smile.

Their eyes lock for one-two-three beats.

It would be so easy to just lean in and press her lips against his... to climb into his lap. Her heart drums faster. She knows it’s too soon, though, too soon to be feeling anything even remotely romantic. _‘I loved Barney the first second I laid eyes on him.’_  Laura’s unhelpful voice drifts through her head. _‘He asked me to marry him six days after we met.’_   Darcy jumps to her feet and tugs the blanket off Pietro’s lap, swinging it around her frame and gives him a plastic smile. “Bed, we should go—I mean, me upstairs, you stay down here,” She busies her hands as she turns the DVD and TV off. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen around ten-ish, okay? Okay! So yeah, goodnight!” With her afghan about her shoulders like a cape and her Dracula DVD clutched to her chest, Darcy races up the stairs.

She doesn’t hear his sigh echo in the empty and dark living room.

 

*

 

Sunday dawns with sunlight trying its damnedest to break through the overcast sky. Darcy rolls over, groping the nightstand for her phone to shut the alarm off.  Flopping onto her back, she stares up at the ceiling with a yawn. Everything is blurry and in that state of cozy almost-but-not-quite awake. She stretches, the warmth of her covers holding her tightly like an old friend. It takes a minute, two, and—yep. Groaning as last night’s finale plays out in her head, Darcy growls in frustration. She’d been such a weirdo. This attraction to Maximoff has to be circumstantial; hot, injured hero in hiding with busty, sarcastic assistant? It’s the makings of a damn Lifetime movie is what it is. Grabbing her pillow she yanks it over her face and screams into it. She doesn’t want her life to be a movie. Pulling the pillow off with a huff, Darcy sits up and glares at the room. She _isn’t_ going to be that girl, no. She’s going to be Pietro’s friend and help him heal so he can go home to his sister. That’s the end of it.

She needs coffee.

Once she’s dressed for another day outside and determination has set in, she heads downstairs. Putting on a pot of coffee, Darcy figures it wouldn’t hurt to eat before they go out since Pietro’s stomach is bottomless. She makes him two omelets and one for herself, and drains a cup of caffeine before she ventures into the hall. His door opens after two knocks of her knuckles against it. Her stomach swoops, her resolve wavering dangerously. He’s in a well worn pair of jeans and a plain, black t-shirt that stretches beautifully across his chest. Nothing extraordinary, really. Except he _is_. There’s just something about him that makes her insides melt.

“Breakfast,” is all she manages.

They eat in silence. When she’s finished, Darcy makes him sandwiches for lunch and packs herself some snacks away in her backpack. While she does this, she steels herself. Again. She knows it won’t be easy but she can resist temptation. Laughter that sounds suspiciously like Tony whispers in her head. She can! Shutting up her inner Stark with more coffee, she rests her hips back against the counter and eyes Pietro. He arches a brow at her and she just smiles. See, she’s awesome. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Darcy hefts her backpack up onto her shoulders and glances at Maximoff.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“You said it isn’t far?”

“Nah,” she shrugs and grabs her thermos off the counter.

“Then I will be fine.”

“Alrighty then, let’s go!” She offers him a grin and holds the back door open for him.

The woods are a little darker since the sky’s overcast so Darcy stays close to Pietro, you know, just in case he needs a hand. But he takes it at a leisurely pace, using his cane to kindly point out roots so she doesn’t trip over them. They banter quietly until they reach the pond.

“Oh…” he breathes when he sees the pond and she watches his eyes roam over the scenery.

“Yeah, pretty isn’t it?”

He turns his gaze onto her and meets her eyes with an equally quiet, “Yes.”

Darcy averts her eyes and leaves him behind to hide her blooming blush. She sets up the blanket in the same spot as the day before, though when she sits down she realizes her mistake. “Uh-oh, we forgot your pillow!” He waves her off.

“I will lean against you.”

“No.”

“You would make me lean against a hard tree?”

Narrowing her eyes, Darcy mentally sighs. Pietro merely smiles and reaches out a hand to her. Taking his hand, she helps him settle down onto the blanket. He stretches his legs out, leaning both into her side and against the tree. Darcy turns her music on for background noise and ignores the warmth that’s seeping into her right side. Darcy digs her book out and dives in, soon oblivious to everything. She isn’t sure how long they sit without talking but when Pietro speaks it startles her.

“What are you reading?”

“What?” She blinks rapidly to clear her vision and glances at him. He taps her book. “Oh! Sorry, I get sucked into these things. It’s ah, Harry Potter.”

“What year?”

“Three…” she quirks a brow at him, and he shrugs. “You’ve read them?”

“Not all of them,” he admits sheepishly.

“You can borrow mine while we’re here if you want.”

“I—I would like that, thank you.” Darcy gives him a smile and goes back to reading. It’s another few minutes before he interrupts her, though. “Before, Wanda used to read. I stole her books when I could not sleep. She got tired of my stealing and losing her place and began to read aloud. Each night after we had eaten, she would read.”

“Is that why you never finished the series?” she questions quietly.

“Yes and no. We signed up to… for HYDRA and they—we had no time for books.”

“I’m sorry.” Pietro shakes his head, his eyes unfocused. Darcy leans into him just a little bit and he pushes back. Placing her bookmark in between the pages, she sits the book aside and stretches her legs out. “My grandmother used to read to me, too. We lived in the country, and she had this big porch that we used to spend all our time on. She’s the one that got me into books.”

“Your mother did not read?”

“I never knew my mom.”

“I am sorry.”

“No,” she pats his arm. “S’okay, she died when I was really little, both of my parents actually, in a car wreck. My Granny raised me.”

“And you still have her?”

Darcy swallows the lump of emotion lodged in her throat and shakes her head. Pietro moves before she can protest and wraps an arm around her shoulders. He tucks her into his side like that’s where she belongs. Feeling vulnerable, she stares through watery vision at the still surface of the pond. Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. “She had a heart disease and was in the hospital for a couple weeks. She died in her sleep.”

“It was peaceful?”

She nods, dragging the heel of her hand across her wet cheeks. Jane and Clint are the only ones who know the real reason why she had been so quick to jump at Jane’s internship, despite her utter lack of Science! anything. When Ethel Lewis died, Darcy had dropped everything. She had abandoned her college, her friends, and gone back to Tennessee. After her grandmother was laid to rest she’d only returned to college to finish out the year, a shell of the person that she’d once been. It was by chance that she’d found Jane’s ad. It was her escape, the perfect chance to leave everything that hurt behind and she’d grasped it immediately. Shaking off her melancholy thoughts, Darcy inhales sharply, takes her glasses off and scrubs at her damp face.

“Okay, enough of that!” she sniffles and puts her glasses back on. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” he squeezes her once then removes his arm from around her.

While Pietro eats his sandwiches and she picks at a container of fresh pineapple, Darcy notices that she feels lighter. She hadn’t realized just how heavy being in the county again weighed on her. She gives him a small smile and shares her fruit when he’s done. They talk for a little while longer then Darcy settles back into her position and picks up her book. This time, she reads aloud coaxing a smile out of him.

The first raindrop makes the serene surface of the pond ripple, stalling Harry and Hermione’s attempt to save Buckbeak. Darcy stops reading to watch a few scattered drops fall into the pond. Pietro nudges her and a clap of thunder makes her laugh when he jumps. She quickly packs their picnic away and stands before helping him to his feet. By the time she gets the blanket shoved into her backpack and her phone, thankfully, zipped away, the rain starts to pour in earnest. Their journey into the woods is a damp one this time, but they’re laughing the entire way. Obviously they can’t rush because of his injury, so they admit defeat and surrender to the fact that they’re going to be soaked. When they reach the house, Darcy ushers him through the back door and into a kitchen chair. Dropping her backpack and kicking her dirty boots off, she pads into the downstairs bathroom to grab a couple towels.

Without thinking, Darcy loops a towel around his neck and uses it to muss his hair. He laughs and she runs it over his face just for meanness. He bats her hands away so Darcy drops down and begins to untie his shoes. She really doesn’t think about what she’s doing as she tugs his trainers off, then his damp socks. It’s the pads of warm fingers against her cheek that alert her to her actions. Her hands pause atop his bare foot where she’d been lowering it back to the floor and she looks up. His gaze is just as warm as the palm that cradles her jaw and Darcy’s heart takes off at a gallop. In the stillness of the kitchen with the rain set as a soundtrack; she’s caught. It’s only been a week but it feels like so much longer as his knuckles caress her cheek, as if she’s made out of glass, something delicate. There’s a pull to him, like he has his own gravity and no matter how much she tries to resist, she’s being sucked into orbit. His knuckle hooks under her chin and tilts her face up. He leans in slowly and Darcy knows this is such a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop her heart from beating harder.

It’s all she can hear; the _poundpoundpound_ of her hopeful heart against her chest. Pietro stops mere inches from her mouth and his breath is warm; why is everything about him so damn _warm_? _Poundpoundpound…_ he says something but she can’t hear him over the sound. “What?” she asks on a breath. His smirk makes her want to pull him down and see what it tastes like.

“I said, maybe you should see who is at the door.”

“What—” _Poundpoundpound_ … Oh, wait, what?! Darcy’s senses scramble to right themselves. Pietro sits back, removing his hand from her face and suddenly she can breathe, can _think_. There’s someone at Barton’s front door. Darcy springs to her feet, face flaming, and turns her back on her ward. Oxygen floods her lungs making her dizzy as she rushes to the door. Oh sweet and mighty Thor, what had she almost done? With shaking hands she opens the door. “Can I help you?” she tries for calm and composed and fails seeing as how her heart has joined the butterflies in her stomach in a riot.

“You’re alive.”

Darcy tilts her head and eyes the woman standing on the porch. She _looks_ normal but the black leather jacket and black jeans, and black boots… SHIELD seriously needs to get another color. She opens her mouth to ask if there’s a problem but a voice stops her.

“Really, May, don’t scare the girl,” Jemma says as she steps up onto the porch, shaking the rain off of an umbrella and gives Darcy a smile. Darcy relaxes just a little at the sight of the doctor and steps back, opening the door wide to let them in.

“We did call,” apparently Agent May says.

“We went out for a walk?” Darcy offers and the woman’s eyes narrow at the towel around Darcy’s neck and her soggy appearance. “And we got caught in the rain.” May rolls her eyes and reminds Darcy of Natasha.

“While fresh air is good, I’d recommend avoiding thunderstorms,” Jemma smiles at her then at Pietro still sat at the kitchen table.

Darcy ushers them into the kitchen, happy to not be alone with him at the moment, happy for the distraction that they provide. While Jemma talks to him, Darcy avoids May’s curious and seemingly all-knowing eyes and puts a pot of coffee on. She excuses herself after that and retreats upstairs with her backpack in an effort to gather her common sense. After a quick shower where she curses herself out with every word she can think of and a few she’s heard Thor use, Darcy slips into her comfy clothes (yoga pants and a hoodie that she swims in) feeling much better. Only when she feels that she’s collected does she venture back downstairs.

May sits at the kitchen table by herself now with a steaming mug in front of her. Darcy gives her a tight smile and fills her own cup then joins her. They don’t talk, instead listening to the muffled conversation of Jemma and Pietro down the hall. Darcy fiddles with her phone, glad it’s a Starkphone and waterproof, and is halfway through an email Tony sent her that morning when May breaks the silence.  

“Everything alright?” Darcy looks up and nods, unsure of why she’d be asking that. May gives her a tiny little smile and she supposes that it’s supposed to be reassuring. “You just seemed distracted when you opened the door.”

“Oh,” Darcy offers lamely.   
“Oh, indeed.”

Darcy’s eyes narrow. She knows when she’s being played by a spy. Taking a sip of her coffee, she shrugs. “We were going stir crazy is all. We’re good now, though.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, we’ve been invited to dinner at Laura and Barney’s tonight so that should help, too.” May just hums in response and Darcy is saved from a staring contest when Jemma comes back into the room. “Well, how is the patient, Doc?”

“Excellent! He’s healing perfectly and I daresay that he won’t need his cane for very much longer. His scans show no permanent damage should he continue on his medications.”

“Scans?” Darcy asks curiously and Jemma pats her bag with a proud grin. “You nerds and your tech. Which reminds me, how are you doing with Janey’s projects?”

“Doctor Foster?” at Darcy’s nod she settles into a chair and if possible her grin gets even bigger. Darcy loves watching people get excited about something they obviously love, and listening to Jemma fangirl over Jane is such a trip. She really can’t wait till her bestie gets back from Asgard.

When the coffee has run dry and it’s going on half-past three, May and Jemma take their leave with promises to return the same time the following week. Pietro had taken his own shower while Darcy entertained them, and since it’s only a couple hours before they’re due at the Bartons’ for supper, they decide not to ruin it with a snack. Darcy settles in a corner of the couch with her laptop and turns on the Disney channel. Pietro stays in his room and that is A-Ok with her. Maybe they can pretend today didn’t happen, but even as she thinks it, she knows that it won’t happen. It’s already hooked into her gut and the more she tries to pull away, to forget, the worse she feels… because she doesn’t want to forget. She wants to taste his lips and burry her fingers in his hair. She wants to kiss his scars and thank him for saving her friend’s life.

Darcy just _wants_.

Blowing out a breath, she sighs and closes her laptop unable to concentrate. Sitting it aside, she keels over, her head resting on the arm of the couch as she curls into a ball. She wills her mind to stop running in circles and just _be still_. Two, three blinks later and she’s dozing off to the sounds of ‘Good Luck, Charlie’ and doesn’t feel the eyes watching her. 

 

 


End file.
